


The Magician

by SanctuaryTrin



Category: Jynnic - Fandom, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forbidden Love, artist and model, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanctuaryTrin/pseuds/SanctuaryTrin
Summary: The prompt was Sculptor!Krennic and Model!Jyn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Victorian setting (1880's)

 

Jyn clutched the velvet edge of her hood and pulled forward, attempting to cover more of her face. A gust of foul air rose up from a steaming sewer grate and she sputtered and coughed, veering away from the noxious fumes. Her little satin slippers with the pale pink rosebuds were covered with grime.

She lifted her gaze just long enough to try and catch glimpses of street signs.  

_Thorne Street...Thorne Street...There’s Tempany Lane. One over. Lord, how can he live here?_

_Ah, yes. Finally._

64 Thorne Street. A narrow, ramshackle horror of a building, crouched like a great mottled bird. A black wrought iron fence for talons clutching at the sidewalk.

But he was inside, so inside she must go.

The hall flickered with gaslight.

_Number 8_

She stood there for a moment, shivering, her heart pounding in her chest. She touched the door. If she turned away now she would still have her whole life. Everything as planned. White silk and diamonds, her father’s love, Cassian’s devotion, perhaps children...

But the ache, the ache in her chest. It would get worse. It would kill her.

She knocked.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Jyn moved her fingers as if touching piano keys, watching her ring in the fading light from the window. It shone coldly with little sparkle.

“Look at it again under candlelight, my dear,” said Erso, breaking away from his congratulations to Cassian.

Jyn smiled and nodded. Cassian’s large, dark eyes were full of kindness, relief, and gratitude, and her father’s were shining with smug satisfaction.

Everything was in place for her future, then. Everything set and decided.

 

As Cassian was leaving, he took Jyn’s hands in his. His touch was gentle and soft, and his hands trembled a bit.

“Jyn. May I...May I kiss you?”

“Of course, Cassian.”

He leaned forward and Jyn closed her eyes. She picked up the sharp tang of his cologne and his mustache tickled. His lips were a brief presence that alighted and then quickly withdrew before anything but a slight warmth registered. Jyn opened her eyes to her fiance’ smiling down at her, but her attention was strangely drawn to the stained glass window above the front door. White lilies whose milky brightness struck her as sickly in the twilight, like the cold, opaque belly of a fish. Jyn swallowed and looked back at Cassian, who was still all smiles as he put on his hat and gave his beloved a bow before gliding out the door.

 

Jyn woke up to a blurred sky and heavy downpour. It was just as well, seeing as how she was to sit for the artist after breakfast. Erso had commissioned a sculpture of his daughter’s hands in celebration of her engagement, which meant that he had known of Cassian’s intentions for weeks.

Her father, the architect. The structure of her life planned and executed with precision.  

 

Orson Krennic stood in front of the windows, his stance formal and guarded, hands clasped in front of him. He had been looking downward as Jyn entered the room, and she was struck by a sense of deference on his part. This wouldn’t do. She approached him with a conscious, casual warmth in order to put him at ease, but when his eyes lifted to hers she halted.

They were stormcloud blue. His face was creased by humor around the eyes, sorrow and hardship along his brow. Strangely boyish yet with the character of age upon it. She had never seen such a compelling face. His silvery brown hair was untamed, falling over his brow and curling up around his neck.

“Miss Erso,” he said softly, his voice mirroring his features, gentle and ragged.

“Mr. Krennic, I hope you have everything you require.” Jyn felt as if words were tumbling from her lips with no assistance from her mind whatsoever.

Krennic nodded with a slight smile and gestured toward the window.

“If you would be so kind as to come this way and sit here, the light is best for my work.”

“Yes of course,” replied Jyn, crossing over to the chair and its companion table.

“I will sketch first. Give me your hands, please. I need to look at them closely and feel their size and contours.”

Jyn held up her hands and Krennic took them in his.

He did not have the hands of a sensitive artist. He did not have long, tapered fingers, a narrow palm, a delicate framework of joints. He had huge, thick fingers and heavy square palms. Low, cruel, and capable.

His fingers moved along hers with deliberate slowness, tracing her veins, the huge pads of his fingertips pressing against her knuckles and the smooth shells of her fingernails.

Jyn felt a strange stirring in her chest, as if a small, winged creature were trapped within her ribcage and fluttered frantically to escape. Her corset tensed as her breath quickened.

He turned her hands over and examined her palms, tracing lines with his fingers as if he were a gypsy divining her future. Jyn had an impulse to touch his cheek with her hand, to have him turn and press his lips to it…

His bright eyes flickered to hers and she felt a bolt of awareness through her center. He knew. He knew she was having sinful thoughts about him.

He released her hands and sat and sketched, Jyn holding a position of her elbows on the table, hands pointed upward like upstretched wings.

Rain pattered against the windowpanes, now and then intensified by gusts of wind into a sharp tapping that melded with the scratch of Krennic’s pencils on paper. Conversation would have been comforting, but Krennic seemed so intent on his work that Jyn hesitated to say anything, then gave up completely. Instead, she focused on droplets of rain, following them as they crept downward and left a gleaming trail against the glass, trying not to meet his eyes again.

He unsettled her.

“Tomorrow I will begin the sculpture,” he said as he packed up his things. Jyn smiled and rubbed the tension from her forearms, ready to escort him out.

“Please don’t bother,” he said with a wave of a broad hand, and he was gone.

 

Rain against her dark windowpane. Tapping like fingertips. Large, rough fingertips against her skin. He wraps his hands around her wrists and squeezes, holds her down, her hands pointed like upstretched wings. She holds the position and he moves down her body, his fingers cool and searching, tracing her neck down to the swell of her breast.

_Everything is going to get wet. What shall I do?_

His eyes are stormy as he looks up at her. His left hand pulls down fabric and his fingertip is  rough against her nipple. Cool like a drop of water.

A gust of rain splattering on glass, droplets bursting into bloom against the hard surface.

His lips part over her nipple and he tastes her with the tip of his tongue.

_Now everything is wet and scented and spoiled._

 

Jyn woke with her hands pressed between her legs, her little secret place throbbing and aching. Morning sunlight streamed through her window.

There would be much more light for him to work with today.

 

His eyes were flame blue in the clear sunlight. Jyn watched, fascinated, as he worked the marble. Tapping little rivulets into the stone with his hammer and chisel. Creeks, streams, and riverbeds. Chips of marble fell onto the canvas at his feet, and Jyn thought about the poor maids who would have to scour the room for bits and pieces later. It was ridiculous that her father insisted on having the sittings in the parlor, but then, he always wanted to have complete control over everything.

“Unfold your fingers, please,” said Krennic.

Jyn blinked and refocused, then regained her position, her shoulders rolling forward from the strain.

Krennic set down his tools, his brow darkened with concern, eyes sharp. Jyn’s breath quickened as he moved toward her and reached for her hands. He took them in his and Jyn stood up. Frantic wings beat inside her chest and the place between her legs ached. He smelled deliciously strange, like clean skin, but unlike her own. His scent was deeper and more elemental. Why did she have such a violent, wicked response to him? This man with a lined face and grim mouth, grayish hair, freckles.

He gently rubbed her wrists and Jyn lifted her eyes to his. They pierced her to the core.

“This isn’t the spot that aches, is it,” he murmured.

Jyn’s lips parted in a heavy exhale. She could only silently mouth the word “No”, but Krennic’s eyes shone with understanding. She began to blink slowly, lazily, as if he were hypnotizing her, and she watched while his gaze lowered to her lips.

He took her left hand in both of his and held her wrist firmly, sliding a large finger along her palm until it touched the edge of her sleeve. He pressed down against her skin, against her delicate, pulsing veins, and pushed forward, urging his finger underneath the tight grip of fabric. His eyes flashed up to hers again and Jyn couldn’t hold back the little sound of desperation in her throat. Her corset clenched around her ribs with each shaking breath she took, and she was almost relieved when she heard her father’s sharp footsteps in the hallway.

Krennic’s mouth twitched to the side in a brief, sad smile before he withdrew from Jyn, leaving her unsteady and dazed. Erso came into the parlor, his large frame dominating the doorway, one hand holding a gilt pocket watch.

Jyn took a last, fleeting glance at Krennic as she left the room.

He was surrounded by fragments of shattered stone.

 

Moonlight streams through the windows, splitting into iridescent shards of flame blue across her coverlet. The light creates a suffused glow around his head, silvering the waves that stick out over his ears, and she smiles, thinking of Mercury’s wings, and she knows that she loves him.

His mouth is a stern, hard line that begins to soften as she traces it with her fingertips.

_Let me see your mouth, Jyn._

She brings his hand to her lips and presses his fingers against them.

_No, Jyn. Not that one._

She searches his eyes but finds only darkness and moonlight.

_Show me where it hurts._

She cannot. Because it hurts everywhere.

 

“I’m fascinated by your process, Krennic. I do believe I shall observe today, if you have no objection,” said Erso as he planted himself in his leather armchair.

He spoke to Jyn of the wedding, preparations to be made, invitations to be sent. She nodded and agreed and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.

The tapping was lighter and quicker, now, and tiny clouds of dust burst from the marble.

She had to think of some way…

“There’s always your mother’s dress, but she would have wanted you to have your own. Something more fashionable.”

Krennic was so close to her, tapping at her window, begging her to let him in. But she couldn’t go to him. She couldn’t open her window.

She had to do something…

Jyn folded her fingers down, her hands going limp as she smiled and agreed with her father.

“Miss Erso,” said Krennic softly.

Jyn looked up at him and knew that her gaze was wide-eyed with desperation and longing, but she had to let him see. She had to tell him.

“Miss Erso, please... Your hands…” His eyes were dark and lustreless and struck her with steely, veiled despair.

“Surely that’s enough for today, Krennic,” boomed Erso with joviality as he rose from his seat. “Jyn, go change into your brown dress and coat. We have business in town.”

Erso stayed behind to speak with Krennic, but Jyn could not hear what was said. Her father had shut the door behind her.

 

There’s a bird outside her window. It beats its wings against the glass. Huge, white wings that shift to blue, stormcloud blue tipped with silver. She leaves her bed and unlatches her window and she can feel large rough feathers against her face. She can smell him. She reaches out to touch the feathers and he wraps his arms around her, his hair brushing against her cheek.

She sobs into his neck, tiny clouds of dust rising from her breath against his skin.

 

“You won’t be sitting today, my dear. I have several house calls to make and I’d like for you to come with me.” Erso shook the paper in his hand to straighten it as he took a bite of toast. “No doubt everyone will have questions about the wedding, and it’s better if you’re there to indulge them.”

Jyn set down her cup with a rattle.

“When will I be sitting again?”

“Oh, a few days I should think. Besides, he took everything with him, so he may be able to work on the piece in his studio. I promise that if you do have to sit again it won’t interfere with any of your plans,” Erso said with a broad smile. “Hurry up with your breakfast, now. I want to get an early start.”

Jyn stared over her father’s shoulder. Through the window she could see a patch of blue sky between the houses across the street.

“Yes, sir.”

 

Four nights.

Four nights of dark, dreamless sleep.

On the fifth day, Jyn rose and made her way downstairs only to find her father absent from the breakfast table. She walked to his study and found him seated at his desk, writing in his ledger.

On his desk, sharply white, was the sculpture of her hands.

“Where is he? Where’s Krennic?” she asked, chest tight.

Erso shut the ledger with a snap. “He’s gone of course. Did you see the piece? It’s quite well done, I must say.”

“Did he...Did he say anything? Did he say goodbye?”

“I paid him and he left, Jyn.”

There was a look of stern caution on Erso’s face.

Jyn felt as if she were suffocating.

She glanced at her father’s ledger, gave a nod and a smile, and left the room.

 

_Orson Krennic, Sculptor, 64 Thorne Street. Number 8._

Jyn’s hand trembled and the glass finger lamp cast ripples of golden light over the ledger as she repeated the address to herself. The mantle clock ticked lightly and there was a distant sound of clopping hooves as a carriage rattled its way down the street.  

She turned down the lamp and left it on the shelf in the summer kitchen near the back servant’s entrance, where she slipped out into the darkness.

 

She knocked.

She could hear faint footsteps from within grow stronger. Her heart twisted and clenched.

The door opened and for a moment she could only see an outline, his wild, waved hair curling haphazardly over his ears and down his neck, the soft bulk of his rolled up sleeves, a sheen along his collarbone.

She took his hand in hers. His huge, rough, brutal hand, and brought it to her throat, gasping as his fingertips touched her skin.

“I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving until you touch me,” she was shaking, desperate.

He pulled her in, his hand still on her throat, the other wrapped around her waist. He whirled her around and backed up while Jyn clung to him, their weight shutting the door with a clack.

A single kerosene lamp lit the room and cast shadows across Krennic’s face and Jyn reveled to see his expression at last unchecked and exposed. It was full of tenderness, wonder, disbelief.  His eyes flitted over her face and alighted on her mouth and his hand at her throat relaxed and moved to the back of her neck. Jyn reached up and traced his mouth with her fingertips, as she had in her dream, only now he was real. He was flesh and blood, and his breath warmed her fingers. He leaned forward and Jyn closed her eyes and felt his lips touch hers, wings stirring inside her, but he pulled away and her eyes flew open.

His thumb touched her bottom lip and lightly pulsed against it.

“Open your mouth, Jyn.”

She obeyed, and he kissed her. He drew in her full lower lip and she submitted to him, following his movements, touching her tongue to his, running hers along his pointed top lip. Her mouth was flooded with the taste of him. A thousand wings took flight within her and she stood on her toes, curling her fingers into his hair, the kiss becoming deeper and more insistent. She felt his fingers on the ribbon at her neck, and it released, her cloak falling in a velvet heap at her feet. She brought her own hands to the clasps on her bodice and started to undo them, her lips still against his, but her fingers trembled and she couldn’t seem to make any progress. His large, brutal hands swept over hers and he wrenched the clasps so her bodice finally split open. He then turned Jyn around, tossing her bodice aside, and began to undo her corset.

His lips grazed over the back of her neck, then his tongue and teeth, and she shivered and panted in response. He worked at her clothing as if carving her out of it, patiently unravelling laces and unbuttoning her skirts while Jyn shook with anticipation and cursed every stitch she wore. At last she felt the corset release its grip upon her and she yanked at it and pushed it down her body along with her skirts and bloomers. Jyn stepped out of her slippers and kicked the mass of fabric aside. Now only in her chemise, she turned and found Krennic’s lips again, dizzy with the taste of him and the feel of his body against her without the stiff cage of her clothing. The tips of her breasts hardened as she rubbed herself against his chest, and she felt new sensitivities develop and unfurl toward him, her lips, her breasts, and the intense ache between her legs.

His fingers crept up the back of her scalp, pulling out pins and shaking her hair loose and Jyn tilted her head back and felt tears stream from her closed eyes. She splayed her hands out against his chest and pushed, following pure instinct, wanting to explore him.

Krennic held steady, his back against the door, while Jyn pressed small, searching kisses down his neck. She felt the low, rasping growls that vibrated his throat as she scraped her front teeth against his skin and suddenly, she became aware of the hard swelling pressed up against her belly.

Jyn pulled back, her eyes wide, her mind whirling frantically in an effort to make sense of it. She knew very little about all of this, only fragments gathered from whispering chambermaids and hushed musings with close friends.

Krennic looked at her with grim intensity.

“Tell me if you want to leave, Jyn. I won’t be able to stop if you stay.”

His hand found the doorknob and turned it. He stepped forward, a narrow shaft of amber light appearing as he opened the door. Every cell in Jyn’s body rebelled against that opening, and she stretched out her hand and pushed the door shut with a sharp clack.

“To the bed with you, then” murmured Krennic in his low, rough voice.

Jyn backed up and then turned, surveying the small room briefly and finding the narrow, wrought- iron bed in the far corner. She drifted over to it and sat, her hands clasped in her lap, and watched with elation as Krennic bolted the door.

He crossed over to her.

“Miss Erso, your hands.”

Jyn lifted her hands in front of her and shaped them into the upward clasp.

“Close your eyes.”

Her eyes closed and she heard a rustle of clothing, then felt something intensely warm, smooth and hard push into the hollow of her hands. She heard Krennic exhale and his hand touched the top of her head, sliding down, caressing her hair gently.

This was the thing, then. That a man would put inside a woman. She had heard it named once, and it made her blush furiously to hear it. She knew it was a low word. Slang. But she didn’t know any different.

“Do you know what this is?”

Jyn nodded and licked her lips, her cheeks burning with shyness.

“Your...cock.”

Her hands inadvertently closed and caressed him and he made a low sound of pleasure deep in his throat. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, fascinated, while she ran her fingertips along his length. His hand contracted in her hair and he seemed to twitch in her grasp.

“Take off your shift,” he said, his breath labored.  

Jyn released him and pulled her chemise over her head. Krennic stepped out of his britches and began to unbutton his shirt, his gaze hot on her body. Jyn knew she should feel shy, but instead she reveled in it. She reached for him and undid the last two buttons with nimble fingers, then pulled him down with her. His open white shirt covered them, cape-like, and Jyn gasped at the warm flush of his skin against hers.

His hands swept over her, rough fingertips finding her breasts. His tousled head lowered and Jyn felt the tip of his tongue touch her nipple. She made a soft whimpering sound and tugged the curls at the base of his neck until he drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked.

The ache between her legs was insistent, throbbing, but she didn’t know how to tell him. All she knew was she had to be touched there.

She took hold of his hand and brought it to the place between her legs. Krennic lifted his head and Jyn saw his quick, wide smile. He shifted his weight, switching to his dominant left hand.

“Open your legs.”

Jyn parted her thighs slightly.

She heard Krennic’s low, rasping chuckle and felt his hand slide down her inner thigh.

“Further, Jyn. Bend your knees.”

Jyn lifted her knees and planted her feet on the bed. Krennic leaned down so his voice was a heated whisper against her ear as his fingers found her secret, aching place.

“Is this what you came here for?”

His large finger dipped into her wetness and spread it upward along the folds of her sex, then found the little, swollen knot.

Jyn turned her head and gasped against his lips as he pressed and circled her clit.

She felt him smile against her mouth and she clenched her teeth and rubbed against his fingers, a strange aggression building in her. She wanted to growl at him, to bite him, she wanted release.

Suddenly he stopped and pulled away, rolling onto his back beside her. She followed him and climbed onto his body, her flushed, wet sex rubbing against his hard length.

“Take me in your hand and put me inside you. Where it aches, Jyn. Put me there.”

She grasped him and touched the tip of his cock to her little spot, a sharp, piercing burst of sensation, not an ache. She slid him down her folds until she felt him nudge her opening, then slowly lowered, parting, clutching, while waves of wicked pleasure pulsed through her.

Krennic was panting, his lips full, his lower lip shining where he had licked it. His eyes locked on Jyn’s and he gripped her thighs as he spoke.

“Slowly, Jyn. It will hurt if you-”

Jyn shook her head, rebellious, and impaled herself on him.

She heard his sharp moan underneath her own cry of pain and felt his hands squeeze her thighs. His face was a closed wince that opened to an expression of wonder and concern as he looked up at her. Jyn couldn’t help but smile at his surprise and took it as both encouragement and challenge.

She began to move, lifting and rotating her hips slightly, feeling the pain begin to dissolve into pleasure. He filled her completely, and she loved the solidness of him underneath her, within her. Everywhere the longing had been, between her legs, the hollow of her chest, beneath her ribs, was now filled with streaming blue light and beating wings.

Krennic brought his thumb to his mouth, wetting the tip, and found her clit again, working her harder, until Jyn felt intense, shuddering heat spill through her. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and squeezed. She saw his head thrown back as if enduring pain, and it excited her profoundly. She felt his cock inside her, huge and pulsing, and her eyelids fluttered and closed as she fell forward, spasms of release rolling through her.

 

Jyn stirred when she heard Krennic’s soft growl reverberate through his chest. She lifted herself up and found him looking subdued, ruffled, and boyish. His lips did have a fullness to them, when he was relaxed and pleased, when he felt deeply. She smiled and touched his lips with her fingers, then caught the cold gleam of her engagement ring. She twisted it off and dropped it on the floor. It pattered metallically for a moment, then was silent.

Jyn buried her face in the slope of Krennic’s neck and touched the ruffled edges of his hair with the tips of her fingers.

She slept, and she dreamt of flying.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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